Of Wind and Stars: Fall of the Shadow Dragon
by Yautjan
Summary: Currently Discontinued.
1. Chapter 1

**This story is based off of the DS adaptation of Ankokuryuu to Hikari no Ken, A.K.A. Shadow Dragons and the Blade of Light. It is told in gameverse, with some elements taken from manga and imagination, from Merric's point of view. I write names as I know them--you will spot translations both official and fan. **

**Fire Emblem is copyrighted by Nintendo and Intelligent Systems. I don't own it. Because if I did, they'd be more favorite-characters-getting-the-shit-beat-out-of-them-ness.**

**One last note: I altered Merric's appearance. His character art is just weird, and his manga reincarnation is...rather painful. Guys can wear pink, but only the Scottish have permission for skirts.**

**Oh. AND I DON'T SUPPORT MERRICXELLIS. End of story goodbye the end.**

---

Chapter One: Reunited

A small cup of tea found its way to the table easily, the thin fingers curled casually around it. After so long in Khadein, the habits of his teacher had worn off onto the young man. Such as drinking the herbal liquid.

The village of Iasu was as peaceful as could be, despite Dolhr's constant, looming presence. The townsfolk had no wish for violence, and continued with their lives as peacefully as possible. The local militia served as their protection, their priests their guidance, perfectly unaware of the real power at their disposal.

Not that the green-haired youth minded. The only thing he wanted was to lay low, remain out of Dolhr's grasp until he could find his way home. Surely the armies wouldn't look for the Aritian in such a run down little village?

He blinked eyes the color of the trees surrounding the walled village, brimming with knowledge and maturity that belayed his youthful appearance. He was only fifteen years in age--and even then he looked closer to twelve--but there was knowledge tucked away in his brain that came from years of training, years of learning.

He stood from the table, resting his hands on the lanky wood. His small home was unfurnished, save for the necessities. A bed, a cabinet, a table and chair, an oven...the one room building was intended to be temporary, and so it was.

Dark blue robes swirled around the boy's feet as he moved to the door of the house, pushing it open to peer into the grassy streets, spring sunlight illuminating the village. The robes were tied at his waist with a golden, braided cord, the frayed ends hanging to his knees. The robe crossed across his chest, underneath which he wore a white shirt that stopped at the base of his neck, giving his long hair free reign to blow in the wind. His sleeves were oversized and long, his hands unscarred and ivory. The trim of his robes shimmered silver, the light reflecting in a way that made his movements seem fluid and watery. He looked like a mage--which was exactly it. He trained in Khadein, what else could one expect?

An Aritian, trained in the city of magic, hiding in Aurelis, wielding power very few men could imagine. That was his single treasure, the tome that lay beneath his bed, waiting for use, for the arrival of the rumored Aritian army.

What else could he do now?

His feet carried him onto the main road, towards the well, where many gathered to converse. Children dodged around his boot-clad feet, glancing in awe at his fancy clothing, before their short attention spans gave way to another distraction.

He smiled as a group of young women, probably no older than him, glanced at him, whispering and pointing. At the sight of his grin, flashing teeth kept white by herbs that he'd taken to growing, they huddled among themselves, giggling and swooning.

Ah, how well loved he was. He couldn't help the fact that it did not take much to remain handsome, or keep his kind nature. He worked with these people, showed them tricks he had picked up in his travels, and in turn learned the way of the peasant.

"Hey, there!" He glanced as a man, one of the militia of Iasu, beckoned him over, where he and the other warriors were gathered. "Merric! Come join us, ya old tyrant, didja hear what's been going on?"

Merric flexed his shoulders as he changed course. "Well, Gathin, who's the tyrant: the one who knows his shit, or the one who accuses the shit-knower?"

Gathin, a big, burly man with an axe strapped to his back, slapped Merric on his shoulder. "Merry, mind your manners," he joked. "You might get your skinny ass kicked for it one day!"

He howled with laughter as Merric blushed the slightest, then looked to the others, ignoring Gathin. "Well?" he pressed.

"You'll never guess," Rolin, a lithe archer, replied. Four seconds passed, then, "The Aritians are coming this way! Or, that's the rumor. Lead by their lost Prince! Or, he ain't lost if he's leading them....but hey, who cares? I'd bet this year's harvest they're gonna come a-knockin' on our city when they arrive."

"You know," said Thren, a portly axeman, "That means Macedonia's comin', too. They'll tear us up real good if they get to us."

"Nuh uh!" Rolin argued. "We's got nothing they'd care about! Right, Merry?" He looked to Merric, who was listening with a very surprised look on his face.

"Lord Marth?" he murmured curiously. "So, you're not dead?" He realized quickly he had been thinking aloud, and rushed to explain himself. "I mean, I'd heard he'd disappeared off the face of the earth, so I didn't know...yeah."

The air was now stirring with the threats of war. And if the two armies collided here, in the Lea... "Merry?" Gathin said. "Hey, kid, you okay?"

"I'm fine," Merric replied automatically, emotions brewing beneath his flesh. Aritia! He'd been waiting for this opportunity for a long time...and now Marth was alive...or, so he hoped... "Hey, you guys. If Aritia does march near us, tell me. I want to catch them."

"You?" Thren echoed. "You've got the fancy robes, kid, but you're armed?"

"I know some...err, basic magic arts," Merric replied. "I want to be of use. You see, well...Aritia's m' homeland."

His words were met by silence, and he cringed internally at their surprised looks. "And you never told us why?" Rolin said at last. "Damn, Merry, I didn't know! Lucky, we're pure-bred Aurelis." He smacked Merric on the back. "Don't worry, we'll let'cha know. You're our friend, just don't get your hopes up. And if you do manage to recruit yourself into their ranks, don't get killed, okay?"

Merric grinned. "Thanks, Rollie, I always knew I could count on you." He grasped the man's hand in a handshake, before pulling him into a big bear hug. "Well, I'm going to go back home, I might actually get a tan out here," he joked, stepping back, and the militia laughed.

"Be seein' ya, Merry!" Gathin waved as the mage ran back to his small adobe. Aritia! His homeland...his life, the very reason he'd been so determined to learn what he knew. To become a master of magic. Or, not a master, yet...sheer will had gained him the tome beneath his bed, not talent. Or perhaps talent, untamed...ah, who gave two figs? Merric dodged a group of children tormenting a frog, and slipped into his house, throwing himself to the floor and fishing beneath his bed.

His hands curled around the old, worn book spine, and he pulled it out, blowing nearly a year's worth of dust off the cover. Writing most people would not be able to read shimmered in silver leaf across the front and side of the green book, trimmed in white and weathered from centuries of use. The book acted as a beacon for Merric's power, allowing him to use the spell within.

Sheer will? Talent? Whatever it was, it had hurt to gain the ability to use this book, and with the price paid, he was the wielder of a master magic. Who was complaining?

He brought it to his chest, and sat on his bed, feeling the old mattress groan beneath his weight. Merric's fingers tapped the spine nervously, his body shaking with anticipation. _Oh, please, Marth, come past this little hamlet,_ the mage thought. _Come on; don't leave me here to rot! Or I'll come show you my newfound talents m'self._

*

"Merric! Merric! ...MERRIC!"

Merric nearly fell off his bed as he jerked away, his slumber disturbed by the loud knocking and even louder yelling.

"Merric!" screamed Rolin, before practically knocking the door off his hinges. "Dragon breath, kid, Macedonia's here!"

"Shit!" The mage jumped off his bed, scooping up his tome in the process, and rushing out the door, Rolin at his heel. "If they decide to attack, we won't be powerful enough to run them down!" _Oh shit,_ Merric added silently. _If they come here, they might find me...and they might realize I'm an Aritian! And if my luck really sucks, they'll figure out I'm a noble with connections to the Lowells. Shit! Damn you, Gharnef, get your ass out of my kingdom!_

Women were ushering children into their homes, fear plastered on their faces. Iasu was no longer simply a haven in Aurelis. Now, it had the potential of becoming a war zone, if Macedonia was not feeling generous. And from what Merric knew, that was exactly what was going to happen.

As he reached the city gate, he heard words that brought salvation. "Look! Eh, look, to the south! It's Aritia! They're cresting the hill! Aritia has come! It still lives!"

Merric scrambled up the wall to the outlook tower, trembling. "Look through your 'scope!" he ordered the watchman. "Who's heading the army?"

The watchman peered through his handheld telescope, watching the approaching army. After a moment, he announced, "A blue-haired lad, Merry! Small, youthful, sword, cape...a tiara? Could it be...?"

"It's Prince Marth," Merric whispered. "It's the heir to the throne of Aritia. He's here...thank the gods!" Without waiting for another response, the mage was already moving back down, towards the ground, before turning to the assembled militia.

"It's Aritia, all right," he confirmed. "And they're being led by the Prince himself!" He held up a hand to silence the babble that broke out. "The north is flat, but the south is hilly. If we spotted Aritia now, and Macedonia only a few minutes earlier, the former is going to reach Iasu first. Let me deal with them; I know some of them."

Nobody argued; this was beyond their coping abilities. "Alright, Merry," Gathin said, stepping forward. "We'll leave this to you. But if something goes wrong, we're coming out. You're a friend, and we don't abandon them."

Merric smiled warmly. "Thank you, my friends," he said. "Now, go, let me handle this." _Let me meet my destiny. _Without another word, the militia retreated, milling in nooks and crannies, waiting for something to happen, whether in their favor or against it.

Minutes passed. Merric paced back and forth, hand curled around his tome, sweat dripping down the nape of his neck. Almost here...now! No...now? Aritia would be coming in some time soon...any time now...right...?

What if Marth slipped by this village? Did Merric think it safe to give chase? What if they mistook him for an enemy and shot him on sight? "Shit," Merric murmured.

And then someone knocked on the village gate.

One of the watchmen sprang before Merric could even register the arrival of a human being, and opened the wooden door, inviting in the man on the other side with a shocked expression.

Into Iasu slipped a male, who held himself with a confidence not seen in many men. He was clothed in a slate blue tunic, dark pants, brown shoes, blue cape, golden crest on shoulder, a tiara in his blue hair...there was no mistaking the person.

Merric rushed towards the blue-haired male as he stepped forward, almost nervously, as if afraid of intruding. He opened his mouth to speak, but the mage planted himself in front of him, choking off any words that had been ready to emerge.

"Aha!" Merric proclaimed happily, hands on his hips and looking up to the taller boy. "Prince Marth. We meet again!"

Marth blinked. There were fresh scars running down his face, and his eyes were accented by shadows and dried blood. It took him a moment to recognize the green-haired individual before him. "Huh?" he muttered, then, "...Merric?! Merric, is that you?"

Merric looked down at his chest, then back up. "Well, yes, sire, last I looked." He ignored the shocked whispers of the villagers eavesdropping on the rather loud conversation. "Whilst studying magic in Khadein, I caught wind of a war brewing and decided to seek you out." He spoke with a formal accent, almost teasing the Aritian Prince he hadn't seen for nearly four years. He was partially lying, as well, but no need for Marth to know that.

Marth did not take long to mull that over; he was grinning like a toddler on Christmas. "I see... Thank you, then. I need friends like you on the battlefield. You will fight with us, of course?"

The mage whistled deeply. Marth had matured a great deal since the last time he'd seen him. That probably had to do with the fact it was his country that was stolen, his people that were suffering, his blood Dolhr wanted spilt... "Of course!" Merric replied. "'Twould be a passing shame if you didn't get to see me flex a little magic muscle. Wait until I show you my latest!"

Merric turned to the assembled people, and waved once, before following Marth out of the village and onto the Lea, with no intention of ever returning.

"What's your latest?" Marth asked, moving quickly towards his army, marching towards Macedonia as they moved to attack, with such speed that Merric fought to keep up. "Your magic, I mean?"

"It's a surprise," Merric grinned back. Excitement bloomed through him like a raging fire. Their reunion had been subtle, but he was sure once this battle was won, they could catch up a great deal on their past adventures.

"Damn you, Merric," Marth sighed in reply, as they broke through the ranks of the Aritian army and moved towards his elite front.

"Your Highness!" Merric glanced up as a green-haired paladin, with a lance at his side, rode up, panting. "Sire, we've spotted the Macedonians! They'll be here in less than an hour! What do you propose we..." He trailed off as he spotted the mage standing next to Marth. "Merric?"

"Hey, Abel," Merric replied. "Long time, no see."

"Merric?!" Merric recognized the shout almost instantly, and ducked to the side to avoid the fist that swung at him. "Damn, I knew you were coming back!"

Merric glared at the red-haired sword paladin as he dismounted from his horse. "Kain! Don't take my head off! What are you so--"

Kain grabbed Merric in a choke hold and rubbed his knuckles on his head. "Ahaha! Tricked ya! It's great to see ya again, Merry!" He pushed the mage away, and his face fell. "But, my Lord, what--"

"We'll set formation near the river," Marth replied. "Send the strongest units out front, to the bridge. We're going to bottleneck them. That'd be…Draug, Oguma, and you, Abel. Gordin! Follow behind, let your arrows fly! And you, Merric—" He looked to the mage. "—you go too. We don't have any magic users in our ranks, don't get killed, understand?"

"Sire!" Merric bowed, his heart pounding. "I would be honored! Don't be killed yourself!"

*

The Macedonian attack was easily predictable and easy to fend off. The army pushed their way across the bridge, Marth and a swordsman Merric had never seen before, Navarre, were weaving through enemy lines, killing everything in their path. The Princess Shiida of Talis weaved through the sky, swooping every so often to stab her lance into some unfortunate warrior.

So far, Merric had held back, watching strategically as Kain and Gordin unleashed their own attacks, backing up Abel, the legendary Oguma, and Draug. The Aritians were gaining ground, pressing forward, pushing the weakening Macedonians back.

And then forward came a massive knight.

He was clearly one of the elites in this fight. Red armor glistened with blood, and he raised a foot to kick the wailing Talis soldier off his lance and to the ground, to die in the grass. Gordin readied his bow, and fired an arrow, but the knight raised his shield and defended the blow easily. Two cavaliers flanked him, wreaking a path of hell. And they were advancing towards the bottleneck.

"Shit!" Merric gasped, flicking open the tome in his hand. "They're too strong, the only thing good against these people…magic!" He ran forward, shoving past Gordin and Kain. "Move!" he ordered. He pushed his way to the front line, then lunged for Oguma when he got the chance. "Sir!" he cried. "Order the soldiers to fall back, there's some people on the way that could wipe us out!"

Oguma winced, the cross-shaped scar on his cheek distorting with his face. "Right, kid, Marth's got good reason to bring a little guy like you in, right?" He lunged into the fray, and Merric shrank behind Abel, who guarded the mage from a lancer with bloody intention.

Soon, "Fall back! Fall back, units, change of strategy!" Merric felt Aritians push by, retreating behind their wall of muscle. He didn't fail to notice Marth was the last to retreat, and even then, it was only to the front line. "Merric," he muttered. "You better damn hope you're good for this." He was stressed, and Merric swallowed.

"Don't worry," he promised. "I've been working too hard to fail in my first fight!" He stepped forward, flinching internally as the eyes of the advancing Macedonians turned to him.

"A little brat!" heckled the knight. "They retreat and send out a toddler! The irony! Has Aritia stooped so low?"

And that was when the winds changed.

Merric scanned over his book, clutching it to himself, feeling the air twist around him, contorting to his wishes. Leaves and debris were caught in the whirlwind, obscuring his view. It would be misfortune if the Aritians had not fully pulled back, but it was too late to stop anything now. The swirling air took on an eerie green hue.

"The Divine Sword of Wind…protect these men! Protect my country! Excalibur!" Merric lifted his head, and trust his hands forward, letting his tome fall to the weed-covered bridge before him. The tornado of power gained an edge, and shot forward, digging into the dirt and carving a long crater. The power fanned out, taking down everything in its vicinity. There were screams, which the spell quickly carried off before all ears could hear them, and the curses of survivors as they watched their core units dematerialize.

It lasted for no more than fifteen seconds. The spell lost its power, and Merric crumpled to his knees, exhausted. He was rusty on his magic skills, and it did not help his chosen spell was so powerful and energy consuming.

There was no time to be stunned at the spectacle, though. Marth recovered, and pointed his rapier towards the enemy. "Charge!" he roared. "Attack! Make them pay, my fellow warriors!" The Aritians surged forward, quickly falling upon the remaining Macedonians like a tidal wave. Marth did not join the advance, instead making his way to his friend. "Merric!" he cried, kneeling down next to the mage. "Tell me you're alright."

Merric looked up, a tired grin on his face. "I'm fine," he replied. "Don't you worry, it takes a lot more than that to put me out of action." He forced his legs to work, and he stood, picking up his tome at the same time. "Didja like my latest?"

Marth was not expecting the question, and took a moment to reply. "Huh? Yeah, was that…?"

"Straight right, Excalibur!" Merric replied proudly. "You're just bursting with jealousness, right?"

The Prince grinned lopsidedly. "Nah. But I am so glad I paid that little village a visit now. I mean, where could this battle have turned, if not for Merric?" he mocked, still smiling.

Merric knew humor when it was there, and he laughed. "Oh, shut up."

"Still kids? You'll never grow." Both warriors started, and turned to see an old man padding up on a silvery horse, scars littering his wrinkled skin and grandfatherly warmth to his eyes. "I'm glad you two are reunited, you've grown, Merry."

The green-haired mage sucked in his breath proudly, puffing out his chest. "Yep! See? I might even get taller than Marth!"

Marth looked dubiously down at the boy, nearly a foot shorter than himself. "Uh huh," he replied simply.

"We're in the middle of a battle, you two," Jeigan reprimanded. "Let's get moving if we want to stay alive." And with that, he took off, back into battle, his lance raised and a war cry tearing from his lips.

The Prince sighed. "Yeah, he's right, come on, Merry, we'll fight side by side. Can you use some simpler spells?"

"Want me to torch your eyebrows off?"

"Good." And the two boys lunged forward, into the fight again.

*

"He's talented."

"Very."

"He mastered the Wind spell at thirteen; that's nay a near impossible feat."

The woman leaned forward, peering into the swirling, rainbow orb. "I see his future. I see what he will hold, in time to come."

"As do I."

"And me."

"There is only one course. We must kill the boy at all costs."

"What about the Prince?"

"We will take care of them all in due time. That is as Master Gharnef ordered, after all. Right now, the two we will destroy…it will be them. Anri's descendant…and the Master of Excalibur."

"We will destroy their souls."

"And take back the blood that is ours."

**I have always…eh, **_**disliked**_**, the lack of assassinations, in the Fire Emblem games. That's where my imagination kicks in. Because Shadow Dragons needs more story! If it had the same amount of story as in Path of Radiance, I would go BESERK and never take that game out of my DS. But, alas, 'tis not the case.**

**Ramble ramble.**

**Sinister? I love Merric. He highly contests for my heart, between him and Marth. And it should be made known I beat the living shit out of the people I love. Marth and Merric don't stand a chance!**

**And I'm going to eventually get a picture of Merric's new design. I have a plan. A PLAN. THAT'S, LIKE, REAL.**

**Anyway.**

**Please review.**

**-Muse**


	2. Chapter 2

**I don't own Fire Emblem or the characters, etc. etc., you know the drill. I'm going to stop writing this on top, because I know you people know it already.**

**Uhh...well, there's some bloodshed, I guess that's it for content warnings…well, what do you expect, this is FIRE EMBLEM, after all D:**

Chapter Two: Battle in the Lea

-

"Take _this_!" Merric watched as the cavalier was engulfed in flames, his screams cut off by the basic spell. The mage winced—this violence, the images of people dying, burned into his mind, clear as the fire spell he had just cast. But there was little he could do. This was war. And he had to channel that sick pleasure of death into something he could use.

Something whizzed past Merric's ear, brushing the arch of the cartilage and drawing the thinnest line of blood. The green-haired Aritian cursed, spinning on the spot to face the archer who had shot at him. "Bastard!" he snapped, raising his hand to cast again.

"Merry!" Merric glanced over his shoulder as Kain galloped up, slashing his sword across the chests of soldiers he passed. The rider swerved around the mage, before swinging his iron weapon. The archer's bow cracked, and fell apart in his hands, leaving the man dumbstruck. "His Highness wants to spare as many as he can, if they're willing," Kain informed both the archer and Merric.

"I don't care what your stupid little brat of a ruler wants!" the archer sneered. "I'll never submit to you Aritian scum!"

Kain raised his sword to fell the man, but Merric beat him to it. The archer crumbled, already dead, his body burnt through and nothing more than bones and ash in a bag of blistered skin. "Damn, Merry," Kain breathed, "Glad you ain't a Macedonian."

"Glad I'm not, too," Merric replied, turning away as the red-haired cavalier rode off. His attention focused on a burly fighter, who was busy swinging away at three of the weakest Aritians in the army. Gordin, the youngest of the elite that had gone to Talis with Lord Marth, was standing next to the thief Julian, protecting the Macedonian Sister, Rena. The fighter cackled madly as he deflected arrows and sword strikes. "Come now, boys, step aside and let me at the little lady, I'll make sure she has a good life with me."

"Julian!" Rena wailed as the fighter's axe clipped Julian's shoulder, knocking him to the ground with an outcry. Blood spurted from the wound, and the man fixed his jaw to bite back a yell of pain. "No, please, don't hurt them!" Rena begged.

"Look out, Milady!" Gordin shouted, shoving her backwards. The axe cut across his chest, and he winced as the cloth tore and blood traced down his skin. "Rr…get out of here, Sister! Hurry! You must leave!"

"Not without Julian!" Rena replied hysterically. "Please, please don't hurt either of these boys!"

"Yeah. Hurt me instead, you fat, ugly brute!" The fighter turned towards Merric, narrowing his eyes at the boy. "Yeah, that's right," the mage heckled. "You ain't nothin' more than one, nothin' more than a stupid idiot carrying a weapon!"

The fighter howled furiously, and charged, raising his axe to chop the annoying Aritian to tiny little pieces. He got four steps before his body was engulfed by flame. His howl increased into a shriek of pain and terror, before his knees gave way and he collapsed, whimpering.

"Bastard," Gordin muttered, drawing an arrow and firing it into the man's skull.

Rena dropped next to Julian's side, and Merric and Gordin followed. The Sister examined the wound, before holding her staff above him. The white orb glowed, swirling like a faint, contained rainbow, and the wound patched itself, weaving skin and replenishing lost blood.

Julian coughed, and sat up. "Ow. Thanks, Rena," he said. "An' both o' you, too," he added, looking to the two green-haired Aritians. "Best not let t'at happen again, eh?" He stood, flexing his healed shoulder, and frowning at the tear in the cloth. "That'll be a bitch to fix…" he muttered.

Merric glanced at Gordin, who was gingerly pulling at his torn skin, causing blood to spill down his front. The archer seemed to realize he was being watched, and looked up with a sheepish smile. "I'm fine," he said. "Just a minor scratch, nothing more."

Something brushed against Merric's back, and he glanced behind himself, startled, expecting to see an enemy with a sword at his spine. There was a sword, but the flat was pressed to his shoulder blade, held by the mysterious longhaired man that Merric had seen before.

"You are a friend?" the man asked, in his deep, dangerously quiet voice. "That is why you converse casually with these people," he added, answering his own question. "You're the one with the wind magic. What is your name?"

"Navarre, we're on a battlefield," Rena said, sounding exasperated. "Ask later!" She turned to Gordin, raising her staff and healing the cut on his chest. "We don't want to be overwhelmed, right?"

"It's Merric," Merric replied. "That's my name. I'm an old friend of Lord Marth's. I—"

Navarre pulled his blade away. "That is all I need to know. Now. The general is still holding the keep. The best units are still fighting the Macedonians. I have received orders to gather a small platoon and take out the general. You four. You'll do."

The mage blinked, and then scratched the back of his head. "Uhm…thanks?" He turned to Gordin. "Come on, we can take that man out easy, right?"

"Yeah!" Gordin turned to Julian and Rena. "Come on, hurry, we'll prove ourselves worthy of His Highness!" The archer fumbled an arrow into his bow, walking over to Navarre. Merric shrugged, and followed.

Julian cracked his neck, chuckling. "Yeah, yeah, a'ight. You gonna stay, Rena?" When the healer nodded, the thief sighed. "Fine. But s'ay near the Aritians, m'kay? No need fo' our best 'ealer to be 'urt, right?" He slapped her on the back, then picked his sword off the ground. "Lezzgo."

The four quickly wove through enemy lines, Navarre and Julian up front, slicing any Macedonians that dared approach. Gordin paused every so often to fire an arrow into the fray, grinning bitterly when he fell a man. Merric took the rear, torching anyone that came near and trying to not trip over his bloodstained robes.

His feet slipped on the wet grass at one point, and he lurched forward, barely even able to keep his balance. "Mmph…I can't wait for this fight to end," he grumbled, catching up with Gordin as the archer stopped to kill again. "Gordin! Gordin, how much farther to the keep?"

"We're in the heart of the battle," Navarre replied. "Or, near it. I can hear the most powerful Macedonians battling Marth and his elite." He glanced at Gordin, who seemed slightly crestfallen at that. "You've got an even more important mission, do not complain about the situation that life is."

The myrmidon turned as a soldier rushed on him, cleaving the man in half, then looked back to the archer. "If it makes you feel more comfortable, I would like to praise your skill with a bow, child."

"Come on!" Julian whined. "I ain't got time ta list'n to ya'll. You best all come, now, befo'e somebo'y gets 'urt. We don' have Rena 'round, stoppit wit' the talkin'!" The thief ran his sword through a healer that was running up, trying to reach a wounded soldier near Julian's feet. He pulled his blade, drenched in crimson, out of the curate and ended the misery of the moaning knight. "Well?"

"We're coming, don't get your cape in a knot," Gordin muttered, pink in the face. He nodded at Navarre before running after Julian.

Merric looked at the swordsman, who watched him almost curiously. "You're…Navarre, right? Well, uh, hi…I, uhm…why are you looking at me like that?" The mage shrunk away slightly.

"You are an odd one. The new recruits into the army are nothing special, but…you have an odd aura about you. Many a sensitive man will realize this, Sir Merric. Be wary of what the enemy may discover. You carry more secrets than you will ever admit." The myrmidon turned, and ran after Julian and Gordin, leaving Merric standing amidst the battle in confusion. What was that about? Odd aura? _I mean, I am a mage, but…people don't have auras. Or arias. Or anything,_ he thought. _What did he mean…?_

It wasn't until an arrow buried itself into Merric's shoulder he remembered he was indeed in the center of a war zone. The mage gasped in pain, his hand instinctively curling around the wooden shaft, his knees giving way as pain lanced its way down his arm. "Shit!"

Someone stepped over to him, wielding a bow and clad in red. "You're that bastard who took out a fourth of our army with your pathetic magic." Merric forced himself to ignore the pain and look into the man's face. He was in his late twenties, with dark eyes and taupe hair. "Now here you are, kneeled before me. You're a young one," he observed. "Even younger than myself. You don't even appear any older than my son. Is this what Aritia is reduced to? Recruiting children? That tyrant, useless scumbag you follow and call a Prince is pathetic. His hopes for freedom are naïve. I'll show him who he's _really_ messing with, when he sees your tiny body among all the others!"

"You know, you could probably just say all that to my face."

The hunter turned around in horror to face the blue-haired man that had approached during his rant, one that looked both calm and furious at the same time, all the while drenched in blood. "You—!"

Marth swung his sword, and no more words exited the man's severed head. He dropped to a knee next to Merric, pulling the mage's hand away from the arrow and examining the wound. "It doesn't look too bad," the Prince decided after a moment. "It'll hurt to move your arm if you pull it out, and there will be a lot of blood, but you should be fine."

"Th-thanks…L-Lord Marth," Merric gasped. "For saving my life."

Marth simply replied by grabbing the arrow and yanking it out of Merric's flesh.

Merric ground his teeth, his hand flying up to cover the freely bleeding wound. A growl rumbled in his throat, and tears of pain threatened to spill onto his cheeks, but he fought it back. He fought it all back. There were more important things than himself at stake.

"Right, then." Marth stood. "I just happened to come this way in pursuit of a Macedonian cavalier, I'm supposed to be in the core battle with the others." He scowled at the mass of fighting not a hundred feet away. "One of these days, I'll actually have control of the army…" he added under his breath. "See you after the battle, Merry, don't get killed!" The Prince took running again, pausing only once to behead another Macedonian before plunging into the main fight again.

_Control of the army? Isn't this his army? Who would have control?_ Merric quickly suppressed the thoughts. He could worry about his friend's murmurings later. Inhaling with a hiss, Merric stood, breathing deeply to fight back the pain of the wound. Now that he thought about it, Marth had been limping heavily—had the Aritian taken a blow to the leg? And his arms had been red as well, so much so that either he had stuck his limbs right through a body, or he was wounded.

_Well, if Lord Marth can fight with all those wounds, then so can I!_ Merric buried the pain beneath a curtain of adrenaline, rolling up his blood-soaked sleeves, and double-checking to assure the Excalibur tome was still tucked safely in his belt. He would have to get a pouch sooner or later for the powerful spell.

He stepped over the headless hunter, and ran in the direction Gordin, Navarre and Julian had, blood blooming across his chest and his left arm limp as his side.

*

"Oh, this isn't good…" Gordin muttered, cringing as the soldier made another stab at him with his lance. "Stay away from me!"

"Ahaha!" the Macedonian replied, slashing his spear across Gordin's stomach. The archer gasped, and stumbled backwards, clutching the wound. "Little brat, you're dead!"

Merric ran up in time to see Navarre spin on one foot and slice his red-edged sword through the soldier, felling him with ease. Gordin tried to thank him, but the long-haired myrmidon was already in battle, fighting next to Julian.

The mage grabbed Gordin's arm and pulled him back onto his feet. "Don't worry," he said. "It's just a scratch, nothing you can't handle, right?"

Gordin nodded. "Of course. And…Merry! Dear gods, are you hurt? Your front is completely covered in blood!"

"Ah, yeah, I got shot with an arrow. I'm fine, though, I'll worry about permanent damage later." Merric laughed at the archer's expression, then winced. "Ow. Well, no worries. Where's the commander of this army…?"

"Over 'ere." Julian's voice startled Merric, and he turned to see the blood-drenched thief, standing next to the even more bloodied Navarre. "You an' Go'din are gonna 'tack from 'far, an' t'en me an' Navvy 'ere'll run in an' kill 'im."

Merric nodded. That made sense. "Alright. Let's hurry, before we loose too much blood and can't fight." He pushed forward, the other three trailing behind, unleashing attacks upon any who dared approach as the mage himself torched a path through the Macedonians.

It wasn't long before they caught sight of the Lea's fort, at the entrance of which was a blonde cavalier. He looked nervous, and was one of the only people on the battlefield not stained crimson.

"That's Bentheon," Navarre explained. "He's the commander of this unit, and if we don't kill him, we can't win this fight. It's up to us to stop him, understood?" He looked at the three younger fighters. "You sure you'll be alright?" he asked, in a rare moment of concern.

"I'll be fine," Julian said, flicking his curved sword in his hand. "Just a scratch."

"Same here," Gordin assured.

"I'll live." Merric shrugged, then immediately regretted doing so.

The myrmidon nodded. "Let's hurry. We have a commander to take out."

*

Bentheon twittered nervously, watching the battle before him. The Aritians were _still_ fighting, and if they didn't stop, they could potentially wipe out Bentheon's platoons. Even the reinforcements, sent in after that brat mage had carved a scar into the land, were falling left and right. "Shit…this isn't good…Lord Michalis will have my head if these blasted rebels don't take it first! I should run…I should! But no…then I'll be a traitor, and that would be bad…damn it!"

The cavalier looked to the north, where he had originally marched in from, praying against hope that there would be a new wave of soldiers to overpower this pesky revolution. Instead, something lodged itself deep into his back, and he turned, surprised and holding back a shriek of pain.

A young archer had snuck from behind and fired an arrow into his exposed backside, and was now preparing another. Bentheon twirled the Ridersbane in his hand angrily. He couldn't leave his post, for fear the Aritians would claim the fort, and he couldn't waste his only weapon, which was too heavy to throw. Instead, he plucked the arrow from his back with a hiss, and cast it aside. "You can defy us, yes…" he called furiously. "But you can never defeat us. Face the wrath of Macedonia, Aritian scum!"

Without warning, fire crept into his armor, scorching the skin. A howl of pain erupted from his throat as his clothes caught flame and metal melted, fusing to the flesh. Panic took hold, and he made to dismount his steed, who was loosing control and trying with all its might to flee.

Before Bentheon's feet could even touch the ground, something exploded through his gut, and he looked dumbstruck down at the blade in his chest. He opened his mouth, but slumped, and died.

Julian pulled his blade out of Bentheon, spitting on the man's body, before turning. "Navvy! 'Urry, we gotta fi'd Lord Marth, an' tell 'im we killed Be'theon!" Navarre was already running, plunging back into battle and heading towards the core fight.

Merric stumbled up, pale-faced but grinning. "That was amazing!" he said. Already, the guilt of murder was fading. "We totally kicked his ass, yes we did. We were really lucky, too."

"Exactly," Gordin said as he followed Merric onto the fort steps. He stepped aside so the frightened horse could gallop away to whatever fate the gods had chosen for it. "We completely destroyed him. Did you see the look on his face when you burned him, Merry?"

The excited and fatigued teenagers didn't even hear Marth's approach until he was only a few feet away. "Well done, you three," the young Prince praised, smiling weakly. He looked absolutely beaten. Merric snapped to attention, Julian and Gordin following suit without a second's hesitation. "Now, the battle can end, and Aritia can claim another victory." He sighed, bowing his head slightly. "I've always disliked this part…"

Merric stumbled away from the fort with his two new-found friends as the Aritian Prince announced the fall of Bentheon and ordered surrender on Macedonia's part. Battle cries were quickly replaced by victorious cheers and the clatter of weapons being dropped to the ground.

Julian seemed to realize the mage was hiding his pain, and wordlessly wrapped an arm around his shoulder, supporting the bleeding man. Gordin ran ahead, hunting down some spare medicine, and it was a few moments before he did return, a vulnerary one hand, his bow slung over his shoulder so he could take a dollop of the herbal medicine and slather it onto his torso. The wound sealed itself shut, replenishing lost blood and washing away the stinging pain.

He handed it to Merric, who gratefully accepted it and slapped the rest onto his shoulder. His flesh contorted, before the wound closed. The lightheadedness disappeared as his bones worked on overdrive to renew the lost blood. He sighed deeply, savoring that feeling of sleepiness and victory.

His first win in the Aritia Army.

It was good to be back where he had always belonged.

*

"You're joking."

"I am not."

"The Aritians won."

The woman turned sharply away from the crystal orb, crossing her heavily tattooed arms. "That is no good. Master Gharnef wanted the Aritians wiped out, remember?"

"I know."

"There was nothing we could do."

"Yet, yet…"

"Yet what?"

"There is a little something we can do."

"…I'm waiting."

"Listen closely, my sister, and you will know…"

The creature leaned over the woman's shoulder, hissing into her ear.

"Kagarath."

A smirk crept over the woman's face. "He is not strong, but stronger than this rabble."

"Shall we do it?"

"Please, my sister, my host, can we?"

"Yes."

"Yes!"

"They will not survive."

"One thing."

"What's that?"

"Sister?"

"…Nothing. Nothing. Do it. Kill them."

**I am going to tell you right now. Right. Now. I will NEVER ship MarthxMerric. For all you people who might accidentally mistake their friendship for something like that…no. That is a ship I will never support. *pout***

**But anyway. Yeah, this chapter sucks, and it's mostly just bloodshed and violence.**

**And I couldn't remember Bentheon's death quote.**

**Oh dear.**

**Please review? Thanks to those who have ;D**

**-Muse**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three: Ambush

-

"Tomorrow," Gordin finished, "Is when we leave the Lea and head to the capital."

Merric swallowed his mouthful of venison, and nodded, wiping his chin with the back of his hand. "Alright," the mage said. "It's been three days since the battle, it's great to know that we're finally leaving."

The two green-haired friends glanced to Julian and Rena, who were arguing about the fact Rena was a vegetarian and disgusted by the army's meat-eating habits. His green gaze turned from the two to Navarre, hunched over by himself and brooding. The five had claimed a campfire for themselves, though Kain kept swinging by and chatting.

Merric cast aside the remains of his meal, earning a dirty look from Rena, which in turn gained an amused smirk by Julian. In less than a minute the two were fighting again. The mage sighed, and crossed his arms, leaning backwards contently. "Life's way too subtle," he said. "You fight until your guts are spilling out of your chest and it rewards your ability to survive with another chance to get yourself killed."

"Hey," Gordin argued between his third venison leg. "We got food and we're still alive. As long as we remain true to our country, we'll be feasting every night."

_All we gotta do is stay Aritian, eh? _Merric thought. _Doesn't sound too hard. Not that I would ever betray my homeland…_

Someone tapped Merric on the shoulder, and the mage sighed. "Kain, if you keep bothering me, I'm going to burn your ass right off."

"Hey, Merry, that's no way to talk to your best friend."

Merric sat up so fast the blood rushed out of his head. "L-Lord Marth! You startled me! Please forgive me…"

Marth laughed, before sitting next to the mage. "For god's sake, Merry, you don't have to hold on ceremony. I'm used to being treated as a commoner by now." When Merric looked dubiously at the Prince, he added, "You're my best friend, stop being an idiot and treat me like so."

Without warning, Merric slapped his friend on the back and laughed. "Ah, who's the idiot here? I haven't seen you so depressed in a long time, Marth. I know with everything that's happened an' all, I'd be too, but cheer up a little!"

"You're drunk, aren't you?"

Merric looked wounded. "I don't drink, I'm fifteen."

Marth nudged the empty bottle next to the campfire with his foot. "Then what's that? Medicine?"

"'Ey! T'at's where m' ale wen'!" Julian lurched forward and grabbed the glass container off the ground, an upset look crossing his face when he realized all the contents were gone.

Merric chuckled at Marth's surprised expression. "No, but it ain't mine, admit it!"

"Admitting something to Merric Aswelia?" Marth echoed. "That's like a death sentence." He ducked the mage's fist with a laugh. "Alright, alright, maybe not. It's not your ale, there, happy?"

"Aha! You admit it!" Merric pointed at Marth, grinning like a moron. "See? And you said you'd never admit anything to me!"

"When did I say that?"

"When you were six."

Marth blinked. "You remember that?"

Merric nodded. "Of course. I remember, like, everything." He leaned towards the fire, warming his hands above the flames. "My turn."

"Your turn for what?"

"To piss you off."

"That can't be good."

"Who's the pretty lady on the Pegasus?"

Marth shrugged, though he turned his head away slightly. "She's the Princess of Talis. Her father kept me and the elite safe for the last two years, and she joined us when we came to the mainland. It's nothing big and exciting."

"Oh, really?" the mage replied suggestively. It was Merric's turn to dodge a stray fist. "Just kiddin'! Don't get your cape in a knot, you prat."

"Who are calling a prat?!" Marth cried, mockingly distressed. "That is no way to treat your superiors, Merry."

"I thought you were used to being treated equally." Merric was straight-faced and somber. "That I was your best friend."

Marth bit his lip. "I was just kidding, Merry, I mean…"

"You're such an idiot." Marth had to grab the log to keep himself from falling off when Merric punched his shoulder, grinning again. "You've lost all your sense of sarcasm in maturing, Marth."

"Hey, Merry! Lord Marth!"

"KAIN." Merric stood and spun to face the red-haired cavalier. "What did I say the last time you came over to annoy us?"

"That you would burn his arm off," Navarre grumbled. "And then you'd show him where he could stick it." The myrmidon turned away from them, arms crossed and his long hair shadowing his face.

Kain blinked. "Oh, that's right, right? Well, I did come over to say hi—"

"For the seventh time tonight…" Merric muttered.

"—And so now I have." The cavalier slapped the mage on the back of his skull. "Cheer up, Merry! God, you've become such a whiner since we last met."

Merric glared. "A dangerous whiner, _Kainy_. A dangerous one." He cracked his knuckles until a twirling spark of flame spiraled out of his palm, igniting the air for a moment before dying and leaving only an unshapely ball of smoke.

"I'm going, bye!" Kain's departure could only be described as 'fled'. Merric laughed, before sitting down again, crossing his arms behind his head smugly.

Marth rolled his eyes. "Such noble behavior. If only Duke and Lady Aswelia could see you now." Merric's grin faltered slightly, and the Aritian Prince noticed. "I mean that in a good way, you know."

"I know." Merric shifted so he was hunched over again, gazing into the fire with a genuine scowl. "Abel told me about Aritia's fall…about how Ellis stayed behind and everything. But he didn't know what happened to my parents… I mean, I grew up in the castle because they didn't have time to care for a kid, but I still loved them, and they did, too. The last thing they said to me before I left for Khadien was that they were so proud of me and they loved me. But…"

Marth rested a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Don't worry, Merry. When we reclaim Aritia, we'll be able to find out what happened to House Aswelia. I'm just as anxious to know as you are."

Without warning, Merric plunged his hand into the flames. Marth jumped slightly, then froze as he realized the fire swirled around the mage's palm but did not touch his fingers. "Cool trick, huh?" Merric looked up at Marth with a slight grin. "Fire-bending is a little advanced, but it's no worse than Excalibur." He pulled his hand out, and watched a small sphere of flame dance between his fingers. "I like to think I'm a little better than most at magic," he said quietly. "And I always have room to develop my talents. I want to be on the front lines, Marth. I want to fight with my friends. I want to retake Aritia, and I want to be there to see it."

"Me too." Both Marth and Merric looked up at Gordin, who had been so quiet that he had been forgotten. "I want to retake my life, your Highness. I know my parents, the Dukes of Helena, they're dead. But I still want…I want to honor their memory and drive those bastards off my soil."

Julian stretched. "I ain't Ari'ian, but I ag'ee. Dem asses nee' ta go. I 'an 'elp wit' m' s'ills wit' a key, m'lord."

"You can also help by learning to talk properly," Rena lamented. "By the time we reclaim Aritia, Julian, you're going to speak like you were _born_ noble."

"Aw, shit, Rena!" Julian pouted.

"Anyway," Rena continued, shoving the thief roughly off his perch, "I'll put my knowledge with a staff to use, alright? It would be an insult to my freedom to not do so. I am a Macedonian noble…and I want to make Macedonia right again."

"I have been paid," Navarre growled without looking over. "As long as the Talisian girl remains willing to pay for my services with her life, I will stay."

Marth stood. "I've been assembling an elite team," he said. "Of my best warriors, for the complicated missions that we may come across. I know you all have potential, and I would like to add all five of you." Silence followed the Prince's sudden decision. "The jobs will be harder, and you'll be fighting the toughest enemies next to me and the others, but I know it's worth it."

Merric opened his mouth to say something in response, but was interrupted as a yell sounded across the camp.

"We're under attack! Bandits, thieves! Protect the healers and His Majesty!"

"Shit!" Marth drew one of the swords on his belt, a worn iron blade. "Come on, then! You're my elite, prove your worth!"

"Sir!" Gordin and Merric both leapt to their feet, drawing bow and tome alike. Navarre and Julian simply drew their swords and ran forward, Rena following the latter with a look of exasperation on her face. "We'll stick next to you," Gordin continued. "Let's get rid of these warrior-wannabes."

No sooner were the words out of his mouth when a scream tore across the fire; an elderly Aurelis recruit died as a massive man with a blood-red axe sliced him in two. "So, this is the little group I was told about."

Marth pointed his sword at the burly warrior. "Who are you?" he demanded. "To attack us so late at night, it is asking for your death!" His blade glinted in the firelight, and so did his dark eyes. It was a frightening look.

The man did not seem daunted, though. "Peh. Aritian scum…you try to beat me and you'll find yourselves in a body pile!" He stepped forward and instinctively Merric and Gordin both shrank back. "I am Kagarath! Where are the blood of Anri and the master of Excalibur?"

Merric blinked, glancing at Gordin, who looked back while swallowing nervously. "…They're not here," he said, his voice crushed into a whisper by fear. "But _we_ are here, and that's good enough!"

_Play along, Marth_, the green-haired mage added. _Gods know we don't need you dead by such a petty figure._

To luck, Marth knew exactly what Merric was doing. It was just another game of good guys versus bad, right? A game where loosing meant fatality. And this warrior looked insanely powerful compared to the people they had fought in the Lea… "I'll protect my prince with my life," Marth said calmly. "You'll have to kill us to get to him!"

"Very well! I am Kagarath; remember my name as I kill you!" Kagarath lunged forward, bringing his red-edged axe down towards Marth, who raised his blade to block.

It was clear the Prince had underestimated his foe, and Merric figured such out a second before the sword shattered and the axeman sliced open Marth's shoulder. The blue-haired Aritian gasped in shock, stumbling backwards and clutching at his shoulder as blood poured down his front.

"Ah!" Gordin raised his bow, firing a shot at Kagarath. The fighter easily deflected the arrow, lunging at the archer and slashing again. The younger male cried out as the axe cut into his side, sending another cascade of crimson across the ground. Gordin fell, collapsing from shock and pain.

That just left Merric, the weakest of the three. Instinctively, he backed away, towards the fire until he could feel the warmth against his calves.

"Wait a second…" Kagarath rumbled, inching forward to peer at the mage's face. "…You liar! You're the son of House Aswelia! This means…" His dark eyes trailed to Marth. "…I see, then. Shouldn't be surprised, Aritians have always been sniveling cowards."

The Prince growled. "You'll regret insulting my countrymen like that, Kagarath," he sneered, reaching for another one of the swords strapped to his belt. "There is no way any of us will die to a coward like you!"

Merric barely had time to blink before Kagarath lunged, slamming the flat of his axe into Marth's head. "Silence, you fool. You're just a lout with a title, nothing more!" He shoved the now-unconscious Aritian onto his back, grinning at the blood that trickled down the side of his face. "Maybe I'll let you live yet, I'm sure my master would love to…_exterminate_ a rodent like you."

"No!" Kagarath turned, watching with raised eyebrows as Merric tore out Excalibur. "You can take Gordin's life, you can take my life, you can take all of our lives, but you will not kill Lord Marth!" Fury brewed beneath the green-haired male's skin, his forest-colored eyes narrowed and glistening dangerously in the firelight. "Well? You wanted me, too, right? Come and kill me!"

Kagarath roared, jumping over Marth's fallen form to make a swing at Merric. The mage quickly side-stepped, twisting around gracefully as if taunting the fighter's lumbering moves. When he had Kagarath back in his sights, he stopped, raising his hand above his head and summoning Excalibur, his robes fluttering around his ankles. "Divine Wind! Protect my friends! Excali—ah!" He nearly fell over trying to dodge Kagarath's attack. The red-edged axe caught his sleeve, tearing the fabric and unbalancing the mage.

He fell onto his back with a gasp, Excalibur slipping from his hands and onto the ground. Kagarath howled with triumph, pinning Merric down with his boot and holding the axe to his throat. "Little brat," he crowed. "Your spell casting is useless!"

Anger surged through the green-haired male's body. Useless? The very reason he had become what he was was so he would be anything but! "I am not useless!" he spat back, his hand creeping towards the fire. "You're the useless one, attacking the people trying to stop this madness for a measly sum of money!"

Kagarath growled, pushing the axe against the tender skin of Merric's neck, forcing him to crane his head to avoid being killed there and then. "You little scumbag," he snarled. "You're just a pawn in my masters' plans. If you comply with what they want, then you might be able to live." He leaned in closer, to the point where Merric had to turn his head away to avoid the man's foul breath. "Because I have no problems making your death more painful than you could ever imagine."

"Bastard!" Without warning, Merric swung his hand up, flames stolen from the campfire swirling around his fingertips. He latched onto Kagarath's face and released the cackling heat.

The axeman howled with pain, scrambling back up and clawing at his burning face. "You little slut!" he screeched. "Cheap bastard! I'll kill you! I'll kill all of you!!" Whatever killing the man was planning, though, would have to wait. "Retreat! Retreat, worthless scum!" Merric stumbled back onto his feet, stepping aside to let Kagarath pass as he fled.

The sounds of fighting fell silent. His throat stung, and he reached up, feeling a thin cut. It wasn't too serious, but he had to get it treated fast. His eyes trailed to Gordin and Marth, the grass stained with their blood. _No, them first._ "Rena! RENA!" he called, climbing onto one of the logs to get a better view. "RENA! Help!"

A few seconds passed, then a long, unrelenting minute… "Merric?! What's wrong?!" Rena ran into view, flanked closely by Julian, who was limping. "Where's the Prince?"

"Wounded," Merric replied, trying to not sound as stressed as he was. "Same with Gordin…oh, god, Rena, hurry!"

The cleric rushed over without another word, literally jumping the log to reach the two fallen males. Instinctually, she went for Marth first, kneeling next to him and examining his wounds. "Concussion, perhaps a skull fracture… his shoulder's been torn open… Julian, what about Gordin?"

The thief crouched over the archer. "'E's got a nas'y 'ound on 'is s'omach," he replied. "Bleedin' pre'y badly, Rena…"

The healer swallowed, before pulling out her staff. "Merric, go find some vulneraries," she ordered. "Now!"

When a healer told you to do something, there was no arguing. "On my way!" Merric replied, forcing the pain in his neck to the back of his mind and leaping over the log, taking running towards the main convoy. There had to be spare vulneraries in there, right?

His mind drifted as he burst in, shifting through items to find the medicine. _Why did they want me? I understand why anyone would want to kill Marth… But… What do I have? Excalibur isn't that impressive… Okay, it is, but that's no reason for anything! Did… Did I do something?_

_I'm confused…_

He wove his way through the confused soldiers of the army, trying his best to not drop any of the salves he'd snatched up. He reached the fire pit again in a slight daze, handing the medicine to Julian so the thief could treat Gordin while Rena fussed over the Aritian royal.

_What do I have that warrants my capture?_

*

"They survived."

"I noticed, sister."

"Kagarath failed."

"Fire-bending… Should we be surprised?"

"No, we shouldn't be."

"We need to think harder."

"What does our oracle say?"

The sound of something hard and wooden hitting stone echoed through the room.

"…Wait."

"Wait for what?"

"It says to wait until the opportune moment. If all else fails, he will come to us."

"Just the mage of Wind?"

"No, him… the Prince… And some other important figures."

"Very good, then…"

"As you say."

The crystal ball fluctuated slightly, reflecting the person's wicked, pointed grin.

"It isn't as I say. It is as fate says."

**Woot, another chapter at last! I know there's been some people who've actually read this story (;O!) so I refocused myself and finished it.**

**It'll probably be my only SD fanfic I'm running, though, my mind is totally focused on all my Elibe stuff I've not released yet.**

**So yeah. Life went to hell, but now it's back in order. Wee!**

**Please review! It makes the Moose happy!**

**~Muse**


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